


The Growing Pains of Repair

by Nugg



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Realizations, Violence, mentions of abuse, ryuji is selfless as always, spoilers (I guess?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 13:06:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16811227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nugg/pseuds/Nugg
Summary: Regrets weren’t a part of his life anymore.But that certainly didn’t mean he had never had a nagging feeling. The itch that kept him up at night, and the one thing that made him feel ultimate guilt.





	The Growing Pains of Repair

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a headcanon on RyujiSakamotoHeadcanons that talked about how much Ryuji cared for others.
> 
> Also done at midnight in one hour after I’ve spent the day babysitting gremlins and crying at Wreak it Ralph 2. Blease don’t @ me. I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and realize none of this makes sense.

Somehow, out of everything, Ryuji made a stubborn promise with himself to have no regrets. With the abuse, the pain, and all in between, he was going to keep that vow.

To just go with whatever he chose, and not look back with sorrow, was hard. But, even if it was shitty, and difficult, it was a way to cope.

At times, it was a blessing. He could simply block out any sense of consequence, and act on his thoughts then instead of later. 

It’s how he and Akira started to date. 

Spontaneous had no meaning when he’d confessed his heart out to Akira after the interrogation. He’d sprung all his feelings on to the boy who sat shaking from something he’d be traumatized for. Hands gripping the bandaged ones that he’d just wrapped himself, with all those past experiences giving him wound care knowledge, it brought a slight smile to his damaged friend. And, it felt good… so much so, that he was willing to risk it all and go for the jackpot. 

The softness that grew on his bruised face when he’d blurted out those three words, was more than anything he could’ve ever wanted. Glory came in the form of the confusingly bone crushing hug he’d received from the weak guy. Quiet, almost mute weeping into his neck as he repeated it back like a broken record. The softness of the shaggy and war-torn hair on his face was something he realized he would’ve lost if things went sour. 

Everything about him seemed soft

Delicate fingers ghosting along his jawline, running up and down his cheek with care. All those patterns he traced into his back when they’d lay together. Gentle acts, like the ones where he’d lazily card through his hair. Or the ones where he’d simply plant both hands to the sides of his face, and stare into Ryujis eyes like they were something magnificent. 

If he didn’t regret, or act on impulse, he would’ve never got to see all the small moments. Like how the sunlight that filtered through those old dusty attic windows looked lovely on his fair complection. How beautiful it was to see Akira dancing in the rain at dusk, streetlights lighting up the puddles he leapt into… 

Regrets weren’t a part of his life anymore.

But that certainly didn’t mean he had never had a nagging feeling. The itch that kept him up at night, and the one thing that made him feel ultimate guilt. 

It wasn’t like he knew, he was young, and he was naive. A little dummy, who didn’t quite understand his home life yet, hands covering his ears as he hummed along to his own songs, blocking out the screaming from the living room. 

He saw his mom flinch more often than not, and didn’t know why his friends at school had such different stories about their parents. All the times they’d sat at the swings and talked about their mommy’s taking them to see the pretty Christmas lights. Or how tall they felt upon their father’s shoulders, getting a better view of the festival fireworks.

His family wasn’t like that. And he was confused. 

His family wasn’t like that, he was confused, and naive, and all of the things a child should’ve been. Sitting at the dinner table in the usual silence, trying to catch a glimpse of his mom’s mood through her hair covering her face, head bowed. 

Forks scraping ceramics, he remembered how nice it was to have a meal at his neighbor friends house. With conversations, warmth, and all the things Ryuji's home meals weren’t. 

When the squeaky voice asked one night at dinner, “Why are we so different from everyone else?” The world slowed in the Sakamoto household. 

Gruff, and something he’d later be thankful for forgetting, his father’s voice broke the silence placed upon them. Sending a look to his wife, and settling down his utensils, he sat back, “What do ya mean, kid?” 

“Well,” he started, “Mommy cries all the time.”

He heard her breath hitch, “And- and- my friends are always talkin’ about the fun things they do with their parents….” 

Mrs. Sakamoto sent a desperate look to her son, hoping his small child mind could process her fear, “Ryuji-“ she tried, before shutting her mouth. Seeing the growing anger of her husband as she pressed a shaky hand to her lips.

“And- none of my friends have a lock on their closet doors. Neither do any of their mommy’s have them purple marks-“ 

A fist slammed into the table, and Ryuji sat up straight, words lost in his scare. Finally seeing the tears streaming down his mom’s face, before registering the scariness of his dad, sitting right across from him.

He stood, and everything decided to speed up. 

Reaching over, rough hands grabbed the neck of Ryuji's shirt. The one with the dinosaur on the front that he absolutely adored, and begged his mom to get him. Bringing him from his own seat, and striking fear into his tiny eyes, so immune to the behavior. 

“We ain’t like them because of you, you fucking  _ idot!”  _ He spat, his son snapping his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see the fury blossoming on the frightening mans face. 

When he let go, the boy fell on the table, too terrified to care about his hand landing in his food. He let himself see when he looked towards his mom, watching the horror continue to spread. Frozen, and unable to do much of anything as she continued to silently cry. 

Crying was never something he liked to see, true now as it was back then. It was more scary than the pain he’d received from a hard smack to his face, or the burn on his scalp from being guided around by his hair.

Regretting nothing came when he risked his life for his friends, getting that lifeboat, and saving what meant most to him. The greatness he’d felt was overwhelming, warmer than the flames he didn’t care about as they engulfed him. Enveloping his body one last time as his ears rang, and he lurched forward at an explosion. 

The difference between beer bottle glass to the back, and the painful prickling sensation of fried skin didn’t matter. 

Akira was sobbing, just like his mother was all those years ago. Watching her son get the shit beat out of him for the billionth time, standing and heaving at the situation. Only able to see what could’ve been her if Ryuji hadn’t stepped in the way of a punch. 

His boyfriends sobbing was different in a couple ways, but death was the main focus of their tears. So afraid of losing the selfless asshole who valued others more than he ever would himself. And loving him all the same for being a passionate protector, a true hero who held no time to second guess anything. 

“Why,” Akira’s whole body shook, squeezing the life out of him that the palace explosion couldn’t, “Why can’t you just-“ 

Knowing he could never explain it with wisdom and sense, he went for the backstory. The moment kid Ryuji realized why his home was so much different than anybody else’s. 

Feeling those feathery light touches to his back, it was like an overwhelming storm. The boat he’d built, resistant to regret, was no match for the waves of sorrow and sadness washing over him and pulling him under. The depths of guilt filling his lungs as he finally gave up, he let himself drown. 

Never before had he acknowledged any sort of wrongness from his actions. But right there in the warm embrace, his stupid promise didn’t hold up. Because despite everything, someone still got hurt, even if he was there to act on impulse.

He began fighting the part of him that was letting the stitches he’d sewed himself back together with, from coming undone. The thread of walls he’d built. The needle made up of all the fake smiles piercing damaged skin. 

He was a doll. Hastily made in some quick attempt to heal, being remade by careful hands. Pulling each string out with caution, opening old wounds, reopening the scars, and stitching him back up with the compassion Ryuji never thought he’d see again.

And, although it may have took a few near-death experiences, he learned to live a little through all of it.

As confusing as it was, when those soft fingers flicked him in the head and called him a butthole. He became all the more grateful for remorse when he challenged Akira, still wrapped in his arms, like a fool. 

Ryuji stuck out his tongue,“You’re a brat.” 

He immediately regretted that. 


End file.
